


2– Thou Shalt Not Make Unto Thee Any Graven Image

by blackazuresoul



Series: Covenant [2]
Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Angst, Gen, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackazuresoul/pseuds/blackazuresoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: The Ten Commandments– laws or guidelines?</p>
<p>A/N: Obvious religious overtones and some liberties were taken with the interpretation of the Commandments. Darker slants have been firmly nailed into place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2– Thou Shalt Not Make Unto Thee Any Graven Image

Mercy was a foregone conclusion. Nineteen years of his life’s work had nearly succeeded in tipping the balance, the _Castel Sant’Angelo_ his last stand. A Bishop on the lam, Garibaldi had captured the building that had had many incarnations during its long history– running the gamut between Papal residency and prison.  
  
Many of Garibaldi’s Iqus series had been offlined in the attempted coup of the Papal state, which left him much as he had begun; with nothing. Below, the sounds of artillery echoed within the grande halls that were once reserved for quiet contemplation and a fortress of salvation for God’s chosen advocate. Marble statues that had withstood the anger and bitterness of the Dark Times now lay in ruin, rendered back to the dust that made them.  
  
Where had he gone wrong? Vows taken so many years ago, forsaken for basic human greed and the want to topple the Goliath that sought to tighten its fingers around the throats of the common man. His crusade had been a noble one, in his opinion, purposed to expose the illuminated lie the Vatican so carefully wove as a veil to cast over frightened eyes. “Man created God, not God created Man,” Garibaldi intoned, his deep tenor resounding in the small tower room he now occupied. Those observations had netted him exile years before he had begun creating man in his own image.  
  
The Iqus series were given the perfection God’s men had lacked and would usher in a new era where practicing the Christian faith would come to mean something once more. However, Garibaldi hadn’t fathomed the Vatican would hold one that was above even the God of old. In his despair, the former Bishop mused that the Archangel Michael had abandoned his post on top of the tower to punish the cleric’s vanity, his terrible sword cleaving through Garibaldi’s creations as if they were kindling for the wrath of God.  
  
Garibaldi considered the dagger that spun between his index fingers, the polished metal picking up hues of blue, black and red from his garments and reflecting back dreams that were hopelessly out of reach. Each slow circuit revealed covenants that remained unfulfilled and wishes that would bleed into the forgotten with the last beat of his heart.  
  
He had tried, had roused several to follow his vision of equality under the widespread arms of a Utopian Christ. But he failed; those that championed the dogma of the Father proved more resourceful in the end. Leaning his head into the padded seat back, Garibaldi turned his eyes to the frescoed ceiling and passed a bitter smile to the celestial beings that populated the arched overhead. “A truce to titles– I will none,” he murmured then raised his arm, plunging the dagger into his gut as the door to the chamber cracked on its hinges.


End file.
